


Lean into the Crazy

by njw



Series: Dicktim Week Prompt Stories [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Case Fic, Cruise Ship, Fake Dating, Humor, Implied threats of Non-Con, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Shenanigans, dicktimweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Nightwing finally lets go of Tim to peel off his own mask. Turning to him, Dick grins, bright and all too beautiful, then raises his brows, dark blue eyes dancing. “Well, what do you say, Timmy? You willing to date me for justice?” And the smiling idiot winks, obviously totally unaware of what he’s really asking.Spending time with Dick on a regular basis can be torture, considering the man’s tactile nature and innate charm. Having him actually seem to return Tim’s romantic interest? Yeah, this is going to be a nightmare of sweet temptation. Tim sighs, seeing his doom for what it is. Then he huffs a quiet laugh. “Well, if it’s for justice…”This whole plan is insane. Guess I might as well lean into the crazy.*For thetumblr Dicktim weekday three fake dating/ocean prompt.
Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson
Series: Dicktim Week Prompt Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571443
Comments: 136
Kudos: 705
Collections: Dick Tim Week 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Salazarastark, Vellaphoria and Smolspideyboi for the awesome beta!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Red Robin, report.” Batman’s voice catches his attention and he veers from his course toward the lockers to head over to the Batcomputer instead. Might as well get this over with. Peripherally, he notices Nightwing and Robin interrupting their sparring session to look. On the other side of the Batcave, Red Hood finishes putting away his abundant weaponry and helmet and then joins the others as they converge on the Batcomputer.

They all have an interest in this particular case and want to see these criminals taken down, fast and hard. Red Robin just wishes he had more to report. Well, at least he has a plan. But first, he has to make his report and let everyone know what a bust tonight turned out to be.

“The offices for Happy Trails Travel Agency are clean, as are the Bailey brothers’ homes. I was unable to locate the hard copy files we postulated might be stored there after Oracle’s deep data trawl failed to turn up anything. The most incriminating activity I observed is that Don Bailey is having an affair with his secretary, and they make frequent, uh, _use_ of office space.” Red Robin shudders, face scrunching up at the memory. No one needs to see that, or have something like that happen on their desk. He just feels sorry for the poor travel agent who’s going to have to work at that computer on Monday, and just might be innocent in all this.

“That’s it?” Batman’s voice is flat, but he’s clearly disappointed.

Red Robin nods as Nightwing edges up behind him to his right and drops a companionable hand on his shoulder, as usual showing no awareness of personal boundaries. “Well, I also found Ron Bailey’s extensive porn collection.”

Red Hood scoffs at that as he ambles over to stand on Red Robin’s left, Robin on his other side. “Whatever, dude’s got a right to whatever shit he’s into in his own home, as long as it’s legal.” The man scowls. “No kiddie stuff, right?” His voice drops dangerously at the idea.

“Oh, no! Mostly hentai, a couple videos with titles like _Buttman vs. the Killer Cock_ and _Scatman and Throbbin’_ —” A horrified noise to his right reminds Red Robin of Robin’s presence, and he breaks off hurriedly. The eighteen year-old really didn’t need to know that particular porn existed. Whoops. “Uh, never mind. And yeah, a guy can have whatever he wants at home, but this was in his desk at _work._ Along with a giant box of tissues and a half-empty tube of lube. Super-gross, wildly inappropriate, and I’m just glad I was wearing my suit so I didn’t accidentally touch any of it with my bare hands.” He sighs, shoulders slumping slightly. “But anyway, not illegal.”

Batman turns back to the computer with a grunt. He inputs a few commands and changes the display to show an array of photos representing powerful young men who, for whatever reason, are serving the interests of a shady conglomerate fronted by the seemingly innocuous travel agency. “Meanwhile, Robert ‘Bobby’ Kane, Junior, and his fiancé, Daniel ‘Danny’ Davis appear to have joined the ranks of those compromised. Bobby Kane just switched his vote on the new zoning ordinance in favor of the Baileys’ proposed development.”

A moment of silence greets this news. That makes three Gotham couples targeted so far. The demographic is awfully close to home for their civilian identities. Nightwing breaks the tableau, leaning forward to say, “Bobby Kane? Isn’t he something like a second cousin to you?”

“Third,” Batman responds calmly. “Twice removed. However, I have followed his political career with interest, and up until this point he has never wavered from his stances once chosen. Unlike most Gotham officials, he’s not for sale. Either the Baileys are offering something irresistible, beyond what we’re seeing, or—”

“They’re making an offer he _can’t_ refuse,” Red Robin finishes. “Blackmail. Being paid in favors, not cash. It makes sense, considering we haven’t been able to find a financial connection between any of the alleged targets and the Baileys.”

Robin narrows his eyes, regarding the images depicted on the screen. Twenty-two faces of well-to-do, influential young men from cities throughout the eastern seaboard stare back, with no answers that Red Robin can see. Yet. “So what manner of blackmail are these brigands finding on so many esteemed, elite young men? The only commonality they have shown thus far is their general physical location, their presence at some point on one of the Bailey brothers’ cruises, their position in society, and their sexuality. None of that lends itself to exploitation via blackmail, considering each of those targeted is openly involved in a homosexual relationship and apparently has nothing to hide.”

He’s right. If these targets had been in closeted relationships, the whole blackmail angle would make a lot more sense. But that isn’t the case. Well, Red Robin has a pretty good idea on how to gather more intel. “So we send in an undercover couple, have them go on a cruise or two, and see if the Baileys bite.”

Batman slowly nods, still staring at the screen and frowning. “Agreed. This pattern is becoming concerning. The number of potential future senators and heirs to powerful businesses falling into these criminals’ grasp is troubling, and the fact that so many of the allegedly compromised young men are beginning to embark on criminal ventures such as smuggling and insider trading after their exposure to the Baileys is deeply suspect. If we can find evidence to bring down the Baileys, it will pull a budding criminal empire out by the roots.”

Exactly. Red Robin smiles slightly, ready to present the rest of his solution. It’s always satisfying when the Bat approves one of his plans. Even though it’s been years since he’s been on his own and a vigilante in his own right, a word of praise or approval from his old mentor still sends a little thrill of validation and happiness through him. “Jay and Roy can—”

“No.” Batman shakes his head. “I can see your reasoning. The Baileys clearly do their homework and only go after well known targets, meaning fabricated identities would be a poor choice for this particular undercover venture. Jason and Roy are a well known, established couple. They are also within the target demographic of men aged twenty to thirty from well-to-do backgrounds, in a homosexual relationship.”

Red Robin nods. It makes sense to use an actual couple for the undercover work, and the pair are partners in the field. They’re experienced, knowledgeable, and work well together. “So what’s the problem?”

Red Hood huffs, crossing his arms. “So what, Old Man, with all that we’re still not good enough for you? What, you think we’re gonna get distracted making out and fuck up the mission?” He smirks, tilting his head. “I mean, Arsenal _can_ be really fuckin’ distracting…” He waggles his eyebrows outrageously, and winks.

Batman shakes his head and then pushes back the cowl, revealing a tired face. “That was not my thought process.” Bruce takes a deep breath. “Jason, this case is likely to involve weeks of work, most probably including intervals of travel of unknown duration. I was thinking of Lian, actually.”

Ah. Well, that makes sense. And looking at Red Hood, the point seems to have hit home. He and Roy do their best to avoid leaving Lian in the care of others. They want her to feel cherished, never second to the mission.

Bruce, oblivious to having accidentally shown some sensitivity for once, bulldozes onward. “Additionally, despite being from esteemed, wealthy backgrounds, both Roy Harper and Jason Wayne have something of a black sheep reputation in their families. All of the other targets so far have excellent reputations. It’s possible the Baileys would not go after someone seen as having little shame, deeming them less susceptible to blackmail than those with no scandals attached to their name. Or, in the same vein, they may not consider such targets worth the effort, considering Jason’s civilian cover has no job or political capital to speak of.”

Nightwing smothers a laugh and Red Robin snorts. _Bruce basically just called Jason a loser. I know he didn’t mean it that way, but damn._

“Fuck, _burn,_ man. Don’t hold back, now.” Red Hood’s laughing, though, so Red Robin figures he doesn’t mind too much.

“So what’s the plan, B?” Nightwing finally drops his hand from Red Robin’s shoulder in favor of bouncing on his toes, as usual displaying far too much energy for a man of twenty-eight.

Bruce turns to face him, raising a brow. “Jason and Roy are not the only options on our team within the selected demographic. You and Tim will be the pair going undercover.”

Red Robin chokes on nothing and falls into a coughing fit. Everyone turns to stare at him as Red Hood helpfully slaps him on the back hard enough to send him reeling into Nightwing, who catches him and holds on with one steadying hand curved around his arm and the other on his lower back.

Red Hood snickers. “Damn, Baby Bird, the thought of kissing Dickie ain’t _that_ bad, is it? Just close your eyes and think of Batman.” He is _such_ an asshole.

“I’m _not_ that bad, am I?” Nightwing asks in a small voice, now absently rubbing Red Robin’s lower back. He’s pouting slightly.

 _That’s the problem,_ Red Robin thinks guiltily. _I like the thought too much. This is all going to go horribly wrong, I know it. But still, ugh, Jason. Thinking of Batman while kissing? Ew._

Red Robin manages to stop coughing long enough to gasp out, “Sorry, Nightwing, I was just startled by the suggestion. And oh my god, Red Hood, that would make it so much _worse!_ What is _wrong_ with you?”

Robin snorts, rolling his eyes. “Far too much for us to list unless we intend to remain here all night. Father, is that not a poor idea? Grayson and Drake would have to behave amorously in public on multiple occasions in order to establish the appearance of a romantic relationship. Surely, at some point, someone would question it? After all, the familial relationship—”

That hits Red Robin like an unexpected punch in the gut. “Uh, _what_ familial relationship?” This has been settled for years. Why does the brat have to dig it all up again now? He’d thought they’d moved past the old jealousies, once he’d finally found his true place and realized family isn’t as easily defined as something written on a piece of paper. Once he’d realized he didn’t need to squabble over a suit or a room in the Manor in some twisted fight to be loved. No, the friendships and relationships he’s built over the years with these people are far too deeply ingrained in his very self to be conditional or reliant on public opinion. The idea that Damian’s still feeling jealous or competitive makes his stomach twist. He’s been so sure things were better between them.

But Robin actually looks confused right now, reaching up to peel off his mask and blinking wide green eyes at him. “Drake. You and Grayson are brothers.”

Red Robin reaches up to peel off his own mask and Tim answers, also confused. “Dami, no. I thought you knew this. Back when I was seventeen and became an emancipated minor while B was lost in time, I also put through the paperwork to have my adoption reversed. It just made sense at the time, and rendered it a lot easier for me to work at WE without the accusation of nepotism. So the name on my birth certificate for my father is Jack Drake, and I have no legal ties to the Wayne family.”

Bruce looks infinitely wearier at his words, but nods. “When I returned and asked Tim if he wanted to reverse the process and be re-adopted, we discussed the ramifications and made the decision to leave things the way they were. Separating our civilian identities was a good move, further strengthened when Tim decided to demerge Drake Industries and make a go of it on his own instead of continuing with Wayne Enterprises after he turned twenty-one.”

Damian looks upset, and Tim feels slightly touched at the teen’s misplaced indignation. “But Drake is one of us!”

“Of course he is,” Bruce says, sounding baffled that anyone would ever suggest otherwise.

Tim shrugs and smiles. “Not all families are easy to define on paper, kiddo. I know my place and where I belong, even if it took a while to figure things out.” Working and spending time with the people he cares about helped. He doesn’t need some legal document for validation when he has the look of approval in Bruce’s eye, the twinkle in Alfred’s, and the support of all the other vigilantes he’s practically grown up with. He chuckles. “Besides, if I had any legal connection to the Waynes at this point, that would definitely cause massive conflict of interest issues with my running DI. It’s really better this way, Dami.”

Appearing somewhat reassured, Damian nods. Tim makes a mental note to take him out for lunch more often for a while to make sure he’s doing okay. He doesn’t want the kid feeling guilty about something that happened so long ago, especially when they’ve worked so hard to get past their rough start.

Bruce clears his throat. “Besides Tim’s legal status, Dick was actually never formally adopted. Once he turned eighteen, the legal wardship ties between us dissolved. The media is aware of all this background, so a romantic relationship between the pair of them will likely be perceived as no more scandalous than any other.”

Hood nods. “And even if someone does make a stink, it’ll just give ‘em more publicity. Fuck it, I think you’re on the right track sending Golden Boy and Baby Bird in, Old Man. They’ll be like catnip to these fuckers. And maybe me and Roy can go on a cruise with them as backup or a secondary target or whatever. Alfie’d love to watch Lian for a weekend.”

Bruce brightens, clearly pleased himself at the idea of having his granddaughter at the Manor for a visit.

Nightwing finally lets go of Tim to peel off his own mask. Turning to him, Dick grins, bright and all too beautiful, then raises his brows, dark blue eyes dancing. “Well, what do you say, Timmy? You willing to date me for justice?” And the smiling idiot winks, obviously totally unaware of what he’s really asking.

Spending time with Dick on a regular basis can be torture, considering the man’s tactile nature and innate charm. Having him actually seem to return Tim’s romantic interest? Yeah, this is going to be a nightmare of sweet temptation. Tim sighs, seeing his doom for what it is. Then he huffs a quiet laugh. “Well, if it’s for _justice…”_

_This whole plan is insane. Guess I might as well lean into the crazy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Red Robin, laying out perfectly reasonable plan to catch criminals:** “So we’ll send Jay and Roy undercover since they’re already a couple—”  
>  **Batman, bulldozing over him:** “Lol nope, we’re sending you and Dick”  
>  **Red Robin, desperately trying to hide his super-secret crush on Dick:** “Hell no how does THAT make sense”  
>  **Robin, puzzled:** “Uh, aren’t they brothers? How could this possibly constitute the most reasonable plan—”  
>  **Batman:** “Because I’m Batman” *Spins on his heel and strides off with a dramatic flare of his cape, discussion over*  
>  **Nightwing, hugging Red Robin:** “We’re going to have fun together, yay!”  
>  **Red Robin, crushed against Nightwing’s perfect pecs:** “I hate everything”


	2. Chapter 2

Dick pulls up to the curb in front of Tim’s renovated theater apartment in his Richie Wayne persona and flashiest car, the hotrod red Ferrari LaFerraria Aperta. Passingly, he wonders if this fake dating thing is going to get him a ride in Tim’s Aston Martin Vulcan at some point. He shakes his head, smothering a smile at the thought.

_I’m still positive Timmy only bought that thing for the name. What a nerd._

He glances up, realizing the front door has opened while he was idling at the curb, lost in thought. And that… that can’t be _Tim,_ can it?

Standing there, silhouetted against the warm light streaming from the apartment, is an incredibly gorgeous man. He looks like walking temptation, from the carefully careless black locks falling over one sultry blue eye to the dark blazer over a button down that’s somewhere between charcoal and blue. Whatever it is, it makes Tim’s always pretty eyes look _spectacular._ Or maybe that’s the eyeliner. Dick gulps. His eyes continue to travel down the slim, well-tailored dark dress pants clinging sinfully to surprisingly long legs, ending in black loafers.

_Wow. Hey wait, is he wearing my colors? That shirt… Damn, that’s hot._

Somehow, in the back of his mind, he’d half-expected Tim to show up for their first date in the same comfortable but far from stylish jeans and faded t-shirts he rocks most of the time when he’s not in uniform, either as Red Robin or the CEO of Drake Industries. Not… _this._ Tim’s twenty-three now, he remembers with a pang. Definitely not a kid anymore, and he should probably stop thinking of him that way. He’s glad he put in the effort himself, with his tailored suit and dark blue button down. Glancing down, it dawns on him that they match. He’s smiling as he looks back toward his date for the evening.

Tim raises a brow, smirking, and Dick realizes with a rush of heat to his cheeks that he’s just been gaping at the other man for over a minute now. Swallowing, he swings open his door and then strides to the curb so he can open the passenger door for him. Tim grins, finally making his way down the stairs. “Hey there,” he says, looking a little shy and uncertain now that they’re face to face with actually doing this.

Well, that just won’t do. No need to feel nervous when it’s just _them._ “Hey Timmy,” Dick says, catching the other man’s slim, strong hand in his to press a kiss to his knuckles. “You look incredible.” Enjoying the pretty blush that wins him, he uses the captured hand to tug his date into his arms. There don’t seem to be any paparazzi around yet, which is good. If they’re going to flub their first kiss, it’s probably a better idea to do it now when no one’s looking rather than later tonight in front of all and sundry. “Is this too forward?” he murmurs, leaning in and staring at Tim’s pretty, smiling lips to make his intentions clear.

Surprise, then amusement and a touch of excitement all flit across the expressive face so close to his before Tim whispers, “Not at all.” He isn’t sure which of them closes the distance, only that those soft lips are pressing tremulously against his. He can feel the shorter man’s lean, deliciously muscled and lithe form against his body and unconsciously draws him in even closer, wanting to erase the distance between them.

Darting his tongue out, Dick’s stunned to find Tim opens easily for him. Groaning, he takes advantage, pressing in and exploring until they’re both breathing hard, hands running over each other’s bodies in a way that really isn’t appropriate for what’s meant to be a fake date. Especially since no one’s watching right now.

But _damn,_ is it difficult to step away. Who would have thought _Tim_ could kiss like _that?_

Gathering his control with difficulty, he pulls back. Tim’s leaning on him, panting softly, and he gently rubs his hands up and down the other man’s back while he waits for him to regain his composure. He winces, realizing if that was overwhelming for him it must have been just as intense for the man in his arms. The precious, very important guy who definitely deserves a hell of a lot better than to be taken advantage of while he’s undercover. “Sorry. That was too much.” He presses an apologetic kiss to Tim’s soft hair, feeling like a complete heel and trying to figure out what just came over him.

Tim shakes his head, glancing up with a shy little smile. “No, it was fine.”

_Really?_

He watches as the other man runs a hand through his hair, scattering the carefully arranged locks. He’s flushed, breathing hard, with disheveled hair and slightly swollen lips. Dick probably doesn’t look much better.

Dick chuckles, reassured that at least his partner doesn’t seem to be offended by his ardor. He holds open the passenger door and assists his handsome date into the car. “Well, at least now we know we can pull this off convincingly.” He can’t resist somersaulting across the hood and right into the driver’s seat, taking pleasure in the way Tim snickers at his antics.

“You buy convertibles specifically so you can jump into them without using the door, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, of course! That, and I love the wind on my face.” He proves it by revving the engine and then taking off, enjoying the thrill of driving a fast car with a beautiful man at his side.

The pricey, fashionable restaurant they end up at wouldn’t be his first choice to take a real date, but it’s definitely the place to be seen in Gotham. And that’s the point, after all, he reminds himself as he gently guides Tim into his seat with a hand at the small of his back.

Tim smirks after they sit down, nudging at his feet under the table. Dick raises an eyebrow and playfully slides his own foot over Tim’s. What starts as a game of footsie quickly devolves into them fighting for who gets to put their feet on top. Elbows come into play, and it ends with them both snickering as other patrons eye them in confused disapproval. Their feet are hopelessly tangled beneath the table, which is now slightly askew from their antics.

“Okay, okay, enough of that,” he finally says, laughing because despite being shorter and smaller than him, Tim somehow seems to have pinned both of his feet and trapped them against the table legs. He can’t escape because he’s pretty sure if he jerks on them hard enough to free himself, he’ll end up flipping the entire table over entirely. That definitely isn’t the type of notoriety they’re going for here.

Snickering, Tim lets him go. Then yelps as Dick promptly takes unscrupulous advantage, trapping both of Tim’s ankles between his own. “Hey!”

Dick reaches out and captures his hands, too, massaging them while trying to suppress his laughter at the adorably pissy look on his date’s face. “All’s fair in lo—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, you’re embarrassing yourself. Wait, you have no sense of embarrassment. You’re embarrassing _me._ I am embarrassed _for_ you, Dick.”

“You can’t take me anywhere,” he says, nodding understandingly. “We should just go back to your place, get some _coffee…”_ He waggles his eyebrows, making it very clear exactly what he means by coffee.

“Not until the third date! I’m a classy guy.” Tim turns away to hide his smile as the waiter arrives with the first course.

“And I love that about you,” Dick says, meaning it. He wonders in passing if he should be concerned about the fact that this role is so easy to play that it almost doesn’t feel like he’s undercover at all. Yeah, that definitely sounds like something to worry about later. Future Dick can deal with that headache. Right now, he’s just going to enjoy this for as long as it lasts.

Tim blushes again, fiddling with his wine glass. Then he glances up, lips twitching into a faint, satisfied smile. Dick instantly goes on high alert because that particular smile usually means the man in front of him has pulled off a solution to a ridiculously convoluted case, an epic prank involving blue hair for his unfortunate victim, or maybe a brutal corporate takeover.

Tense, ready for just about anything, he’s still shocked by what happens next. Scanning the room, he spots four people approaching their table. The three women and a man, all clad in sober black evening attire, are each carrying instruments; two violins, a viola, and a cello.

_A string quartet? Wait, what?_

Under his confused but interested gaze, the four set up around their table. Tim’s practically vibrating with excitement about whatever it is he has planned. Then the group begins to play, and Dick forgets everything else amidst the wonder that is a professional string quartet playing classical covers of all his favorite songs. It’s amazing, beautiful and bizarre and probably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for him. “Oh my god,” he breathes, turning to gaze at the man responsible for all this. _“Timmy.”_

“You like it?” Tim asks, practically glowing with happiness.

He squeezes both the other man’s hands, then lifts them and presses kisses to one after the other. “Yes, I _love_ it!” The tables around them _ooh_ and _aww_ and he dimly registers the snap of multiple cameras, but all he can think about is the sparkle in Tim’s eyes and how beautiful he looks with that grin on his face. “How’d you do this?” All he’d told Tim was that he’d plan the first date, not where they were going.

“I figured you’d take us to Sapori d’Italia, considering it’s the current hottest restaurant for the Gotham elite and you’d want to make a statement. Plus, you know how much I love tagliatelle Genovese.” He glances down at the main course, which has just been placed before him, and bites his lip to try to hide his smile of appreciation over Dick guessing what he’d like. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, beautiful. Or should I say _bellissimo?”_ he teases, enjoying the delicate flush on his companion’s fair skin. He lifts his utensils and cuts into the perfect Fiorentina steak on his plate, preparing to have an incredible evening with one of the most important people in his life. It’s made all the more memorable by the unconventional background strains of the music he loves being played on stringed instruments.

This is so far from the awkwardness he was anticipating for the evening. He’s still got one of Tim’s hands in his, their legs are comfortably entwined under the table, and to anyone watching it definitely looks like they’re having an amazing time. Which makes sense, because they _are._

_Why don’t Tim and I go out more often? I mean, we hang out with the others plenty, but not one on one. I think after this case is over, I might just want to change that._

The flashbulbs when they exit the restaurant are blinding, but they both manage to smile through it. Dick wraps his arm protectively around Tim as he leads him back out to where the valet has the car ready. He bends down to whisper in the other man’s ear, “I think that went off without a hitch, don’t you?”

Tim tilts his head, flicking his gaze toward the gathered paparazzi before looking back at Dick with a devastating smile. “Could give them a little more,” he says, licking his lips. “Really sell it.”

And _oh._ Yeah. That sounds good.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Dick pulls him into his arms, wrapping himself around the other man who presses up against him with a happy sigh. Their lips meet in their second kiss, and if anything it’s even better than the first. Tim’s soft little gasps and whimpers just add to the heat. All he wants is to pick him up, press him against the nearest flat surface, and take him apart. Find out what other gorgeous noises he can make, then take him home and do it all again.

When they finally separate, breathing hard and clinging to each other, the crowd is cheering raucously and shouting questions. He hears _“When’s the wedding?”_ along with _“Get a room!”_ followed closely by _“No, keep going you guys are hot!”_ and _“How soon can we expect the Drake-Wayne merger?”_ and a few less polite questions. Also a loud wolf whistle that makes Tim’s blush intensify.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get home. I wanna slip into something more comfortable,” he says with a wink for the cameras.

A reporter’s voice calls after them as they duck into the car. “Mr. Grayson, by _‘something more comfortable,’_ do you by any chance mean your date, Mr. Timothy Drake?”

“No comment,” he manages, trying not to laugh.

“Oh my god,” Tim says, sliding down in the seat as though he wants to hide. He looks up just in time to see Dick nodding vigorously and giving that reporter a huge thumbs up. “Oh my _god,_ Dick!” But he’s laughing, covering his mouth with his hands to smother it, so he’s probably not too mad. Besides, it’s good for the cover if people assume they’re serious and involved physically. They should attract the Bailey brothers’ attention sooner that way.

A few more public dates, and then maybe after a few weeks they’ll book a cruise. That will balance the need to close the case quickly with the necessity of establishing their cover relationship sufficiently to make themselves desirable targets for the blackmailers. He’s aware Tim has a detailed, multi-step plan, but the real world tends to knock plans sideways. His own talents are well suited for taking the situation as it is and building a plan as he goes. Thinking about it, he wonders if maybe that’s why they make such a good team whenever they work together.

Guiltily, Dick realizes that’s pretty much the first time he’s thought about the Bailey brothers or the case in general all evening. Well, they’re getting the job done, and that’s what matters. Although as his gaze falls on Tim again, leaning back in his seat and laughing openly now, eyes bright and expression lit with joy, he has a growing feeling that the case might not be his top priority anymore.

 _When did Tim grow up, and how did I miss it? More importantly, how the heck am I going to handle fake dating him now that I’ve_ noticed _him? Then again…_ He smiles, wondering. _The interest doesn’t seem entirely one-sided. Guess we’ll just see where things go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dick, showing up at Tim’s apartment to take him on their first fake date:** “C’mon out, Timmy, time to go!” *Looks up expecting to see Tim in cheeto-stained sweats and crocs*  
>  **Tim, a vision of scorching hot masculine beauty:** “Oh hey there” *Glides down stairs and into Dick’s fantasies*  
>  **Dick, swaying slightly from how fast all the blood in his body just went south:** “Holy shit I’m in trouble aren’t I” *Considers, then decides to just roll with it* “Wanna practice making out?” *Continues practicing long after they’ve clearly mastered the skill* “Damn, best case EVER”


	3. Chapter 3

Tim focuses on Dick’s gorgeous, grinning face as the older man guides him through yet another underarm spin. Waltzing at stuffy galas has never even been _close_ to one of his favorite pastimes—more like bottom of the list, right above losing his spleen, and watching reality television—but it’s starting to look like maybe he’s just never had the right partner before. “This is incredible,” he manages, laughing, nearly breathless from exertion. “I’ve never gotten a workout from _dancing_ before.”

Dick’s shoulder beneath his hand shakes with laughter as he nudges him into yet another reverse turn, swinging them around and then orbiting around him while they dance vigorously back the way they came. They’re spinning so fast all he can see is the grin on his partner’s impossibly beautiful face, the rest of the room falling away in a blur around them. He feels drunk, giddy and excited in a way he never imagined.

Other, more sedate couples stumble out of their way as they both snicker, flying across the floor together. “What, this? We’re barely moving. I think you need more exercise, Tim. We should definitely make dancing dates a weekly thing from now on. To build up your strength, of course.”

_I actually wouldn’t say no to that. This is unbelievably fun._

His attempt to answer is foiled when Dick swings him into promenade position and then pulls him scandalously close before dipping him in time with the song’s finish. “You’re ridiculous,” he says as his partner easily lifts him back to a standing position. “I’m hot now, I need a drink.”

 _“Yeah_ you’re hot,” Dick answers with a goofy grin, because despite passing as cool he’s actually a complete dork. His arm slips comfortably around Tim’s waist while he leads him over to the outskirts of the ballroom. It’s far too easy to relax into the other man’s touch. The past couple of weeks of pretending to be in a relationship with him have been both more and less of a challenge than he was expecting. When they’re together, they slip so easily into a pattern of easy banter and affectionate touches that it’s getting harder and harder to remember it isn’t real.

_This is going to hurt when it ends._

Dick gracefully snags a pair of drinks from a passing waiter and hands one to him, unconsciously reminding him where they are and what’s at stake. Tim blinks, focusing on the mission instead of his own inner turmoil. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs before quenching his thirst. His gaze flicks around the room, and he notes some interesting new arrivals who seem to be making their way toward them. “Don’t look now, but we’re about to have company.” It would be convenient if the Baileys made contact with them now. They’re planning to go on a cruise in the next couple of weeks, now that they’ve had a chance to establish their cover, but it would be even better if they had confirmation they’ve caught the targets’ attention already.

Of course, Dick immediately lifts his own glass, checking out the approaching duo by glancing down when his drink is at the perfect angle to show their reflections. “Perfect. I love company!” Beaming, he hands his empty glass off to another waiter. A hand descends on Dick’s shoulder, and both he and Tim turn.

“Hello there, I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” the thickset, redheaded man about Dick’s age says, extending a hand as he and his companion nod a greeting. “Donald Bailey, nice to meet you. And my brother, Ronald.” He gestures toward the slightly older, shorter man at his side, whose balding pate glistens distractingly in the bright light from the chandeliers overhead.

Tim desperately tries not to remember the porn he found in this man’s desk. The more he tries not to think about it, the more it obtrudes into his thoughts. _Ugh, gross._

“Richie Grayson, but I’m sure you know that already,” Dick replies after shaking his hand vigorously, his society mask falling easily into place. “And this is Timmy Drake, my boyfriend.” His arm around Tim’s waist squeezes gently as he smiles fatuously down at him. “We both love meeting new people!”

Don Bailey lights up at that, his affable face falling into a pleasant smile. “Well, how about that! We run a travel company that does cruises all along the eastern seaboard. Some of them even depart from right here in Gotham, and they’re always full of bright young things you’d be sure to get along with.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun!” Dick somehow sounds genuinely enthusiastic despite the fact that these men almost certainly intend to blackmail them through unknown but likely ethically dubious means into a life of turmoil and crime.

He’s a really good actor. That sends a shadow of dismay through Tim, and he pushes the thought away. Now’s not the time.

Ron Bailey is talking now, smiling in a friendly manner. He’s just as harmless-looking as his brother, which probably helps when it comes to winning the trust of their victims. “We were actually about to offer you two lovebirds a special deal on one of our cruises.”

_Oh, that’s interesting. We never turned up anything about that, but then, if they made the offer in person and the tickets weren’t differentiated in the records from those purchased normally, it might not have come to light._

Tim tilts his head. “Oh?” He blinks, making his eyes wide and round. “That’s very kind of you, but why? I mean, why us?” He blushes, looking down. Considers hiding his face in Dick’s shoulder, then decides against it. Fluttering his eyelashes, he glances up. “It’s too much trouble, we couldn’t possibly—”

Don flaps his hands, his fair skin going red with the exertion. “Oh, no! No trouble at all! In fact, you’d be doing us a favor! Having the patronage of someone of your caliber would be quite a cachet for our cruise line. A real treat for the other passengers.”

Tim bites his lip and turns to look up at Dick, who nods encouragingly.

Sensing their hesitation, Ron moves in with the clincher. “We’d give you four tickets, of course, so bring some friends! The more the merrier!”

“Well, I guess we could bring Jay and Roy,” Dick muses, pretending to think about it. “We’ve been meaning to go on more double dates, and they could definitely use a little getaway. Let’s do it!”

All Tim can do is nod, smiling along with the others as the Baileys expound on the beauties of the autumn foliage and rocky northern coastline as viewed from the ocean. Perfect. All their work and the confusing emotions he’s been dealing with over the past couple of weeks are finally paying off. The criminals have taken the bait. Now all they have to do is allow the trap to play out, and be ready to snap it closed on their prey at the psychological moment.

“You’re making that face again,” Dick’s voice murmurs in his ear, startling him out of his reverie. The Baileys are smiling and waving as they walk away, so apparently he zoned out long enough for Dick to finalize the arrangements with them. Whoops.

“Mm? What face?” Tim quickly schools his expression into a socially acceptable vacant smile.

Dick laughs. “Okay, that’s even creepier. But I meant the one that usually means you’re about to destroy your enemies.”

“Wait, what? I don’t have a face like that.” He doesn’t. Does he? Maybe he got it from his mom.

“Oh, you so totally do. I’ve seen it when you’re DMing Warlocks and Warriors, and you’re about to bring down the wrath of hell on your friends’ poor, doomed little party…”

“What? Hey, that’s just my _face—”_ Tim tries his damnedest to suppress his laughter, but fails as Dick continues.

“You also do it when someone, usually me or B, is about to walk into one of your epic, overly complicated Rube Goldberg machine pranks. Oh, and when you’re getting ready to perform a hostile takeover of a company that treats its workers poorly. And during our, uh, _nightly activities_ when you—” He cuts off as Tim slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Oh my god, Dick, don’t talk about our _nightly activities_ here!” It’s only when heads in their vicinity turn to stare at them, avid interest and titillation showing on their faces, that he realizes what he just said. Or, well, shouted. “Oh my god.” Tim buries his face in his hands. Excited whispers rise around them, people audibly speculating about their nightly activities.

_Oh god._

He barely meets anyone’s eyes as they leave, Dick carefully guiding him back to the car. Tim drives, of course; he’s not about to let anyone else drive the Vulcan, not even Dick. Back at his apartment, he flops down on the couch and then lets out a soft whuff of air when the other man flops down right on top of him. “Ow, you’re heavy,” he complains, not making any attempt to push him off. Somehow, Dick’s the perfect weight. Like a cuddly, pleasant-smelling, incredibly handsome and muscular blanket. One that massages his arms and sides as they lie there together, because Dick is actually constitutionally incapable of ever being perfectly still.

Well, the analogy might need some work. It feels good, anyway, and he’s not planning to move any time soon. “We should probably get something to eat,” Dick says after a while, squirming until he manages to dig his phone out of his pocket.

Tim tilts his head to the side to watch as he keys in an order to their favorite Indian place. “Get the green curry.” He sighs. “We should probably work on other case files, too, or prepare a report about our encounter with the Baileys tonight so B can spend the next two days before the cruise obsessively brooding over it and making plans.”

“Yeah.” Dick doesn’t move. Then, “Hey, wanna watch some Firefly?”

Heck yeah, he does. Tim wiggles, trying to pull himself out from under Dick, who realizes what’s going on and then somehow flips them both so they’re spooning facing the TV. His head’s resting on Dick’s arm which, he’s learned over the past weeks, is surprisingly comfortable for being made of solid muscle. “Mmm.” He sticks his arm out and flails around until he finds the remote, then starts the show at the episode where they left off last time.

Dick presses a soft kiss to his hair and cuddles him a little tighter, sighing happily. There’s no one around to see the intimacy, so this is all just for them. And it really doesn’t seem like acting, at this point.

_I have no idea what we’re doing anymore. All I know is, I don’t want it to end._

* * *

The cruise ship seems decent on the surface, well-appointed and clean. Their cabin isn’t exactly spacious, but then again, it _is_ a cruise ship. Dick bounces experimentally on the bed, grinning. “Wanna test it out, sweetheart?” He leers affectionately up at his partner.

Tim snorts, rolling his eyes at his silliness. “We’re supposed to be at the dinner party on the lido deck in like ten minutes. You know how much I love quickies, but not _that_ quick.” He smirks and gives a suggestive little shimmy of his slim hips as he bends over to dig something out of his suitcase.

_Oh, it’s on._

Dick rolls to his feet in a smooth motion, timing it perfectly with the sway of the ship so he catches the other man as he tips, still unsteady on his sea legs. “You sure about that?” he murmurs into Tim’s ear, pulling him back against his chest and running his hands over him, dragging slowly down his front to hook his thumbs suggestively in his belt.

From the shuddering sigh that nets him, the other man is definitely affected by their proximity. Of course, he is as well. He tips his hips back, guiltily trying not to press himself against Tim. They know there are cameras and probably microphone pickups in this cabin, and they can’t disable them without tipping off the perpetrators that they are more than they seem. It isn’t fair of him to be so demonstrative here, where Tim can’t get away if he wants to.

He’s being a, well, _dick._

_Sorry, Baby Bird._

Dick starts to let go, only for Tim to twist in his arms to face him. He twines his arms around Dick’s shoulders, pressing them _tight_ against each other and _oh,_ yeah, Tim’s definitely into this. Their, uh, _interest_ is rubbing together in a way that feels so good he’s tempted to say screw the mission and, well, screw Tim instead.

Of course, they’re both way too professional for that. Which doesn’t stop him from claiming Tim’s mouth and making out for the next ten minutes before they finally manage to drag themselves apart.

“We’re late.” Tim runs his fingers through his hair, only succeeding in rendering it even messier. Dick approves. He likes to see the other man looking tousled, and _his._

_Geez, down, boy. In another day or two, this mission’s going to be over and all of this will go back to the way it was._

He doesn’t want to think about that right now, so he shoves the thought to the back of his mind and reaches for Tim’s hand. Raising it to his lips, he smirks. “They’ll understand.”

They do. The Bailey brothers greet their late arrival with smirks and leers and far too many suggestive, appreciative glances at Tim for Dick to want anything more than to shove his fist into both their smarmy faces. Jason and Roy are there, too, with just as many smirks and leers, but somehow it doesn’t feel as skeevy coming from them.

Or maybe he’s just used to their level of skeeze. He knows they don’t really mean anything by it, anyway, which is more than can be said for the Baileys. The uncomfortable suspicion that the reason they only target homosexual men for their blackmail schemes is to satisfy their own prurient interest strengthens.

_These guys are such assholes. It’s going to feel so good to take them down._

None of them miss the sleight of hand that results in Tim and Jason’s drinks being compromised. A quick analysis on Tim’s wrist computer, the one disguised as an expensive but otherwise ordinary watch, shows it’s something similar to a standard roofie, which makes Dick want to break something. Or someone.

_If anything goes wrong, if either of them actually ends up getting hurt… I won’t be able to hold back._

Tim leans in close as though to murmur a sweet nothing in his ear. “Trust me,” he whispers. And tips back his glass.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Dick, fake dating themselves into comfortable domesticity:** *Wonder what the hell’s going to happen when all this is over, immediately dismiss thought from their minds* “Yay, living in the moment! Everything will be this awesome forever!”  
>  **Bailey Brothers, slipping roofie into Tim’s drink:** “Lol nope!”  
>  **Tim, knocking back drugged drink:** “Yolo”  
>  **Dick, trying to stop him and failing:** “Goddamnit Tim!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings this chapter for villains being super creepy, uncomfortable undercover situations.

The drugged drink feels cold as it slides down his sleeve, and Tim experiences a moment of gratitude for the highly absorbent lining he has built into all his dinner jackets. It comes in handy in a lot of situations, like unscrupulous investors trying to drink him under the table. Or pretending to like Steph’s horrible experimental drink concoctions that usually involve things like pickle juice and milk. It’s moments like this that really make him grateful to have it, though. He catches Jason’s eye across the table and is relieved to see his barely perceptible nod.

Good. He must’ve ditched his doctored drink, as well. Now they just have to act biddable when the time comes and their targets try to get them on their own. His mind turns over probable outcomes and begins to construct contingencies. The dosage of rohypnol detected in his drink would probably have taken effect within approximately twenty to thirty minutes, had he consumed it. Rohypnol symptoms are not dissimilar to those resulting from consumption of alcohol and might include lowered inhibitions, confusion, dizziness, nausea, difficulty walking or speaking normally, and a general relaxed feeling. And then, of course, waking up eight hours later not remembering what happened.

Tim isn’t sure exactly how events are going to unfold now, but the queasy feeling he’s experiencing has nothing to do with what little he’s eaten.

_These guys are even worse than we thought. If this is what they’ve been doing to people… We have to go through with this and stop them. Whatever’s coming, we can handle it._

At his side, Dick’s smiling and carrying on light conversation with the others at their table, but the tightness around his eyes and mouth gives away his true state of emotions, at least to Tim. He’s furious, barely keeping a leash on it. Across the table, Jason’s blinking heavily now and Roy is teasing him good-naturedly about being a damn lightweight despite his size. It’s a good act, but that’s all it is. Roy is obviously on edge as well, not any happier than Dick is about this state of affairs.

Tim gives a mental shrug. Well, they don’t have to be happy about it. All they have to do is their job, and tonight that consists of standing by and letting Tim and Jason do theirs.

Well, best get started on that. He sways, leaning into Dick as though the drink just hit him. He nuzzles into the other man affectionately. “You smell so gooood,” he says, snuffling at his neck and then giggling. Then he licks his chin and snickers.

“Oh my god,” Dick whispers, sounding both mortified and amused. “Sweetheart, you’re so wasted already.” He gently tugs Tim’s wandering hand out of his lap and sets it firmly on the table.

Tim makes a sad noise. “My hand is cold.” It’s true.

“Well, I’ll warm it up with mine, then.” Dick wraps his larger hand firmly around Tim’s and squeezes it. “No need to stick it down my pants.”

“There’s _always_ a need to stick my hand down your pants, Dick.” Tim pauses, blinking slowly, and then his eyes light up and he grins. _“Dick,”_ he says, and giggles again.

Dick rolls his eyes, and across the table Jason starts cracking up, clearly playing along as well so anyone watching will believe he is just as affected by the drug as Tim. “Dick. Diiiick.” He chortles, staring at his older brother like he’s the best joke he ever heard. “Fuck, what do you even call your penis? Does Tim suck your Richard?”

He and Tim both start snickering, mostly at the utterly horrified expressions on their partners’ faces. Roy tries to keep a straight face, but then he cracks up as well. “My Roy objects to you talking about Dick’s Richard, Jaybird.”

Jason grins. “Oh, _that’s_ what you’re calling it now? I thought it was your—”

Roy’s eyes go wide and he shuts Jason up in the most effective way possible, leaning in for a kiss. The two of them seem to get distracted for a while then, so Tim goes back to teasing Dick.

This is actually kind of fun.

Tim changes his mind about that a few minutes later, when dinner’s over and the crowds moving out to the dance floor somehow separate the group so he and Jason are alone with the Bailey brothers. Across the room, he spots a few men he recognizes as previous alleged victims of the blackmailers, walking with their arms draped over Dick and Roy’s shoulders. From their gestures and the direction they’re headed, it looks like they’re challenging them to a game of darts.

It helps their cover that Dick and Roy pretended to drink during dinner, as well. To any observers, they might believably be in a fairly relaxed state themselves, if only due to alcohol.

He and Jason, on the other hand… He can’t let himself forget that they’re meant to have drunk more than alcohol. Tim resists gritting his teeth, keeping his body loose-limbed and relaxed as he’s ushered away from the crowds and down a corridor. Don pushes open a door, and then he and Jason are gently prodded into a cabin he doesn’t recognize. It’s set up like a studio, with cameras and lights aimed at a bed. “Uh,” he says, then giggles.

“‘M tired,” Jason says suddenly. “Feel sick.” He grasps his stomach.

_Good thinking, Jason. Maybe if we puke all over the place they won’t want to do… anything_ else _to us. I hate that we just have to play along to find out their plan and get the intel we need to end this charade._

“Sorry.” Tim tries to pat his arm comfortingly, but misses and ends up kind of poking him in the ribs with his hand. “Sorry.” They both snicker. For a tense, high stakes situation that might go south at any moment, parts of this are weirdly hilarious.

“Tired, boys? Well, good thing there’s a bed right there! You can both lie down and take a little rest, doesn’t that sound nice?” Don has a hand on Jason’s elbow, leading the biddable man over to the bed.

Tim follows like an agreeable duckling, and barely suppresses the urge to quack. Wow, pretending to be drunk is actually going to his head a little. But he’s a professional, damn it. “Quack,” he whispers, then snickers.

“Oh,” says Don, as Jason’s thighs bump the bed. “Why, you’re both still dressed. That won’t be comfortable! You can’t wear suits and shoes to bed!”

“Mmm,” Tim hums agreeably, and sheds his jacket and shirt. Might as well get this over with. The sooner they get through this, the sooner he can get back to Dick, who’s bound to be tearing himself apart wanting to help. Kicking off his shoes, he toes out of his socks and then unbuckles his belt and shimmies, allowing his pants to pool on the ground. Then he frowns, knowing he looks comically upset. “No pajamas!” He pouts.

Ron’s staring at him in a way he doesn’t like. Hungry. He resists the urge to cover himself. At his side, Jason finally starts moving again, stripping with clumsy enthusiasm that results in him hopping on one foot as he tries to disentangle himself from his pants. He ends up barreling right into Ron, who collapses beneath the onslaught, wheezing. “What the _fuck—”_

“Sorry,” Jason slurs, then elbows him in the gut, digs a knee into his groin, and falls on him again. He manages to do all of this while making it look like he’s just trying to get up.

_Holy shit. Guess Jason didn’t like the way the dude was looking at me, either._

Finally, Jason makes it back to his feet and only puts up a slight fuss when Don urges them to remove their boxers. “You don’t want to wear those dirty underwear to bed, right?”

Feeling incredibly filthy just from the look in Ron’s eyes as he watches them, Tim slides off his underwear. He doesn’t look, but knows from the sound of something hitting the floor that Jason did the same.

_It’s just a mission. This isn’t real. Whatever happens, it was just an act._

His inner matra doesn’t change the fact that he’s freaking out a little right now. The blackmailers’ plan is pretty damn clear at this point. They’re obviously going to stage some kind of sexual encounter between him and Jason, then hold the threat of revealing their supposed affair to their significant others over their heads. Just… How far do they intend to take this? Meeting Jason’s eyes, he catches a troubled expression there before the older man’s face smooths over into a dopey grin.

Don ushers them both over to the bed, where he encourages them to cuddle. “It’s cold in here, and like you said, there’s no pajamas. There, see, poor Tim just shivered. You should get him warm, make sure he doesn’t catch a cold.”

Jason affably drapes an arm over Tim, and the sound of a shutter clicking from across the room draws their attention back to Ron. The man is now taking pictures, leering at them as he does so. “Get the big one on top,” he says. “That’ll look good.” His breathing picks up a little, and Tim recoils slightly.

“You idiot, you’re scaring them.” Don addresses the pair on the bed, his coaxing voice clearly meant to soothe any anxiety on their parts. “He just meant you guys should roll over. If Tim’s still cold, Jason should cover him with his body for a while. Wouldn’t want him catching a cold, now would you?”

Jason blinks, looking confused, then nods. “Dickie would be sad if Tim got sick. He’s kinda small and runty.” Beginning to roll them over, he pauses, body hovering over Tim. Looking conflicted, he glances over at Don as though for confirmation. “Like a blanket?”

Gleeful grin on his face, Don nods. “Just like that!”

And Jason drops onto Tim like a damn sack of bricks.

“Oof! Jason why?” he says. Or tries to say, considering there’s actually no air in his lungs to vocalize with and no room for his mouth to move because it’s being squashed by what he’s pretty sure is an aggressively huge pec. At least the other man was considerate enough to line them up so their junk isn’t touching. Not that this is much better.

Jason crushing Tim with his bulk feels nothing like Dick pressing him into the couch. Somehow, Dick makes the experience sensual, gentle and relaxing and fun. Whereas right now it feels like he’s inside one of those machines that crushes cars into cubes. Or under one. How does Roy deal with this? Oh, wait, he’s a big guy, himself. He gasps for air, twitching his limbs and trying to find a way out, but the man on top of him gives no quarter.

A steady stream of shutter clicks captures their movements, which probably look pretty damning.

What the heck does Jason eat, anyway, rocks? This reminds him uncomfortably of many traumatic sparring sessions over the years during which Jason decided it would be hilarious to pin Tim down, jam his face in his extremely ripe armpit, and then go deadweight while he wiggled and attempted to claw his way to freedom, gagging and choking on the stench.

Judging by the faint shuddering he can feel in the ponderous bulk that’s currently compressing his lungs, Jason’s thinking about the same damn thing, and trying not to laugh.

Asshole.

Eventually, Jason gets bored and rolls off, curling around Tim like he’s a teddy bear, politely keeping his hips back far enough not to touch. The camera shutter clicks a few more times before Don chuckles. “I think we’ve got what we need. Let’s leave these boys to sleep it off now. They need their rest. They’re going to be working for us from now on, after all.”

Ron stares at them beadily for another long, infinitely uncomfortable moment. “You sure we shouldn’t mark ‘em up some? Make it more convincing?” He licks his lips, and Jason’s arm tightens uncomfortably around Tim’s middle. It’s a tossup whether he’s feeling protective, or considering using Tim as a projectile weapon to attack the overly thirsty douchebag.

_Ew. This dude’s seriously creepy._

“You know that just ups the chances their boyfriends will figure out something’s going on. We gotta keep it clean, make it so there’s nothing to throw their stories into question, or else what the hell’s the point of blackmailing ‘em? No marks, that’s the safest way.” Don moves toward the door, catching his perverted brother’s arm on the way. “And then next time they join us for a delightful cruise, we do the same thing to their boyfriends, collect the whole set. C’mon, let’s give the sleeping beauties their rest.”

On their way out, they scatter a handful of condoms and little packets of lube theatrically all over the bed. Tim and Jason eye them distrustfully once the blackmailers are gone.

_Bleh, that’s disgusting. Why are some of those condoms tied off? Aaa don’t think about it, do NOT think about it—_

What follows is possibly one of the most awkward nights Tim’s ever spent. He and Jason manage to communicate their theories and some basic plans via simple code, spelling messages out on each other’s skin with small finger twitches while they lie side by side on the bed, arms barely touching. The chance of being observed or recorded is too high to risk moving or talking much.

The end result, of course, is they decide to stay in the room and take turns sleeping until their hosts return. They can’t risk the operation just to get a message out to reassure Dick and Roy, even though it sucks to leave them in the dark. So they alternate keeping watch, and morning can’t come soon enough.

_The waiting can be the hardest part on missions like this. Although I’m definitely glad these guys were just looking for slightly risque pictures, not anything… worse._ Tim blinks, considering. _Maybe waiting isn’t so bad, considering the alternatives._

The door finally flies open again in what’s probably the early morning, the Bailey brothers talking loudly as they spill into the room. “It’s them! Here they are!” Ron waves an arm at the bed as though showing them to an audience.

Tim jerks awake, then blinks, brain rebooting slowly. “Wha…?” His confusion is only partially feigned. Seriously, he hasn’t had coffee yet, give him a break. Jason, whose turn it was to keep watch, looks amused at his lethargic state.

Don pushes his brother out of the way and sweeps his gaze over them. “Thank goodness we found you, your boyfriends are beside themselves! They thought you two fell overboard or—oh. _Oh._ Damn, so _that’s_ what you two were up to last night.” He raises an eyebrow, eyeing one of the condoms that apparently became stuck to Tim’s arm overnight.

_So gross._

He shakes it off, horrified. Who knows where those things have been? Hopefully the Baileys just opened a bunch of fresh condoms, but he’s not willing to trust that assumption. He still finds it super-disturbing that some of them are tied off, presumably to add to the verisimilitude so their victims will believe they’ve actually had sex. Ugh.

“Well, ain’t that a shame.” Don shakes his head sorrowfully, looking down on them with disappointment written all over his deceptively kindly face. “Your sweet boyfriend, and _your_ fiancé, waiting up all night for you two to come to bed, and here you are, with _each other.”_

Ron frowns, looking grave. “It’s an ugly thing, but at least they’re finding out what you’re really like now instead of learning the truth years down the line and breaking their hearts that much more.”

“What? No, I wouldn’t…” Jason looks around, a horrified expression on his face. He edges away from Tim on the bed, scowling. “I fuckin’ _wouldn’t._ He’s not even my type! I could bench press him! Hell, he would fit in one leg of my damn pants!”

“Well, seems you _did._ And some people are into that kinda thing, you know. Maybe you wanna find out? Looks like you made a sextape while you were at it, bet if the media got their hands on that, you two would be _real_ popular.” Don points at the cameras. “You’re just lucky the film crew who stores their extra gear in this cabin didn’t come in here last night, or you’d be in a world of trouble right now.”

Tim sits up, burying his face in his hands. “Aren’t we in a world of trouble anyway? Oh my god. How drunk _was_ I last night? I don’t… and with his _brother.”_ He moans in simulated horror, echoed by Jason.

“Fuck.” The big man sounds both pissed and guilty as hell.

Don edges farther into the room, shutting the door behind himself. “Well now, I wouldn’t say that. Or rather, you _are_ in trouble, but what are friends for if not to help you out?” And he leers in what’s probably meant to be a friendly smile.

“We can be your friends,” Ron adds, clicking one of the cameras open and helping himself to the memory card. “We don’t have to tell anyone about this. No one has to know what we saw, what happened here. You tell your boyfriends you got lost, and slept it off in a couple of empty cabins. We’ll back your stories up. And all you have to do is be our friends, too.”

Tim lifts his head, blinking away tears and sniffling. “How much?”

He knows from their research that the Baileys usually take their payment in favors. As it turns out, his theory that they’d accept cash as well if the sum is high enough is correct. As he types in the appropriate routing number on Don’s phone, he smirks internally. The moment he presses enter and the money’s transferred, Oracle’s going to be so deep in their business there’ll be no chance for them to hide anything again.

_Hell yeah. All of this was worth it._

After their captors leave, Tim turns and looks over at Jason, feeling slightly weird after their bizarre experience, but not as uncomfortable as he might have expected. It definitely wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and he’d felt safe enough throughout most of it. 

“You okay, kid?” Jason asks, and it’s more than the cover. He’s asking if Tim’s alright, worried that what they just went through might have traumatized him even though nothing really happened.

Well, it _was_ pretty strange, and there were a few uncertain moments that were actually distressing where things could have gone bad. Especially considering he has a feeling he knows how far he and Jason would both go to break this case. Too far for all of their mental health, probably.

But nothing happened, and he’s fine. So, of course, he forces tears to gather in his eyes and bites his lip, tilting his head down so the tears will spill theatrically down his cheeks. With a hitching sob, he whispers, “Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.” He sniffs loudly.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Jason mutters, reaching over to pat him roughly on the head. “You’re such a little shit,” he mutters under his breath. Louder, he says, “You’ll be fine, kiddo. Just keep paying those assholes, and on one ever needs to find out. Fuckers,” he growls, looking like he wants to punch the wall.

Tim sniffles. “If you say so. And hey, you’re only two years older than me. At what point will you stop calling me a kid?”

Jason grins like a bastard. “As soon as you hit your growth spurt, kiddo.” And he winks, clearly fully reassured that this situation isn’t hitting him too hard. “Now, let’s get dressed and go find our boyfriends. They’re probably about ready to tear this damn ship apart looking for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Jason, pretending to be drugged to learn Bailey Brothers’ nefarious plans:** “Dude I’m so wasted right now”  
>  **Bailey Brothers, leering:** *Breathe heavily while posing Tim and Jason in a series of blackmail pics that are way more awkward than sexy*  
>  **Jason, taking advantage of the moment to stuff Tim into his smelly armpit:** *Laughs like a bastard* “Damn it’s just like old times”  
>  **Tim, struggling weakly:** “You’re SUCH an asshole”  
>  **Ron Bailey, breathing even faster:** “That’s so hot”  
>  **Tim and Jason, the next morning:** “Welp that was awkward as fuck, let’s never speak of it again” *High five, go their separate ways to reassure probably-panicking significant others*


	5. Chapter 5

Dick paces back and forth in the cabin, barely managing to keep a handle on his temper. It’s been _hours_ since the Baileys led Tim and Jason away. Time in which nearly anything could have happened, could still be happening even as he sits here, useless. The last glimpse he’d had of them was Ron Bailey’s hand on Tim’s slim shoulder, ushering him down a dark corridor, and the _look_ on that guy’s face as he’d stared down at the young man—

The only thing keeping Dick from breaking character and going after them his damn self is the fact that he knows perfectly well Tim was faking being drugged. After his initial panic on seeing his partner apparently drinking from the contaminated glass, his common sense had kicked in and reminded him of the little tricks they all have built into their gear. There’s no way Tim would expose himself to such a substance when he had options.

_Knowing he’s not mentally compromised going into this should make me feel better, but…_

He barely refrains from punching the wall. Right now, he’s allowed to look worried, but too exaggerated a reaction might raise red flags for any watchers.

That doesn’t make it easy to hold back, though. Not being drugged isn’t going to save Tim from his own screwed up priorities. Dick knows Tim almost as well as he knows himself, and if the other man thinks something has to be done to crack the case… He’ll do it, even at an unbearable cost to himself.

Every possibility that passes through his mind’s eye is worse than the last. Tim and Jason separated, put into compromising positions by the Baileys, used in terrible, unforgivable ways. He goes still, mind racing as he imagines Tim hurt, suffering, silently bearing it because he thinks he has to, Jason in a different room doing the same—wait, that fear doesn’t actually work. Even if Tim’s self-sacrificing enough to allow such a violation in the name of the mission, which Dick _hopes_ he isn’t, he can’t actually picture Jason taking any of that lying down.

_Ugh, phrasing. But yeah, Jay would probably flip out, beat up whichever Bailey was trying to take advantage of him, and then break the guy’s fingers until he confessed to everything and gave us the intel we need to take this whole thing down._

For a moment, he seriously considers letting Jason do just that. It might be worth it, if it would spare Tim whatever indignities—or worse—he’s being subjected to right now.

Dick shakes his head and resumes pacing. The parade of mental images starts up again, but this time it’s other men’s faces and hands on Tim while he bites his lip unhappily, tries to twist away… cries.

And the hell of it is, there’s nothing Dick can do. No way he can stop any of it, protect his partner, because Tim asked him to trust him.

And he does. He really, truly does. Coming to a halt in the center of the room, he closes his eyes, draws in a long, slow breath, and then releases it.

_Tim can take care of himself. I’m not doing him any favors by doubting his abilities or his judgement._

Whatever’s happening right now, he knows without a shadow of a doubt Tim has a plan. And between him and Jason, they’ll be able to execute it. They’re relying on him and Roy keeping their shit together, and there’s no way he’s going to fail them.

Dick’s just starting to step forward to resume pacing when the door opens with a soft click. Tim comes in, looking tired but otherwise fine. In that moment, it feels like a vise around his heart loosens, a rush of relief and joy taking its place.

“Oh my god, _Tim!”_ He moves forward, arms open, and his partner falls into them.

_Thank goodness you’re okay._

“Hey. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, burying his face in Dick’s chest.

Reminded that they’re still meant to be playing a part, he hugs him close, huffing. “Where were you? I looked everywhere for you. Jason’s missing, too—Roy and I were so scared something happened to you guys.”

_I wish I could ask him the real questions now. He’s not using the code words to indicate anything really bad happened, though, so that’s one good thing._

Tim nestles in closer. “I’m sorry, I think I drank too much. I must’ve wandered into one of the empty cabins and blacked out.”

Dick hums and then gently lifts him, carrying him over to the bed where he lays him down and then curls around him. Sighing, Tim nestles into him and then relaxes completely. “I’m tired,” he whispers.

“Then sleep.” He tightens his arms around the precious man resting so trustfully in his embrace. Tim uses one hand to trace code words onto the sensitive skin on the back of his neck, making a simple report that sets his blood boiling even as it eases some of his worst fears.

As soon as he’s finished making his report, Tim’s out, clearly exhausted by his ordeal.

Dick is disgusted with the blackmailers, but glad to know Oracle will already be tracing the withdrawal from the special account Tim used. And now that they know exactly what kind of leverage is being used, it should be a lot easier to blow this case wide open and free everyone else from the blackmailers’ sway.

But what does this mean for him and Tim? These last few weeks have been some of the happiest he’s had in recent memory. The man in his arms stirs slightly, then calms at his touch.

_I don’t want to lose this._

Lying there, he makes a decision.

* * *

A stiff breeze drives chill ocean spray in his face as the ship pulls into Gotham Harbor on the final morning of the cruise. The sky is appropriately gray and brooding over the choppy waves. Right now, all Tim wants is to go home and wrap himself up in a blanket and Dick and sleep for approximately the next day.

So of course, the first thing he sees when the docks come into sight is flashing lights and a police barricade. “Guess the others managed to find enough to move on it fast,” he sighs, leaning back in Dick’s arms. It’s good to bring the Baileys down quickly, but… He could’ve used a bit of a break, first.

The other man nods, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder to observe as the cruise ship docks and the Bailey brothers immediately stride forward to confront the gathered police. They seem to be arguing with the lead detective, who looks increasingly furious as the animated conversation continues.

Dick rubs his face against Tim’s. “I’m not surprised. You did a great job, Timmy.” His grip tightens protectively. Tim’s about to answer when a scoff from farther down the rail draws his attention over to where the others are standing in the same position they are, Jason hunched low leaning over the rail with Roy draped across his broad back.

Roy eyes the action onshore. “Ten bucks says one of them’s dumb enough to dive into the harbor trying to get away.”

Beneath him, Jason snorts. “Yeah, that’s a sucker’s bet.” He tilts his head, considering. “Make that a blow job instead, and I’ll take it.”

Tim frowns, turning to look at them. “Wait, how does that make sense? Changing the penalty doesn’t affect the likelihood of you losing the bet—”

The other pair begin to laugh, and even Dick snickers a little. Tim frowns and after a moment Roy takes pity on him. “The point is, either way things go, we _both_ win.” Jason winks, and then a loud splash draws everyone’s attention back to the harbor where Ron Bailey is now flailing in the filthy water, sputtering angrily.

_Ew. Although if anyone deserves to get a weird infection from the polluted cesspit that is Gotham Harbor, it’s definitely him._

All four of them are laughing, the other couple leering as they joke about collecting on their bet, when Tim spots a hint of movement atop a nearby building. It’s Batman, and if he’s allowed himself to be seen, it means he wants them all back at the Cave as soon as possible to make their reports.

Following his gaze, Dick sighs, then slowly unwraps himself from around him. Tim feel inordinately cold once he lets go, which is dumb. This was just a case. He has to be able to handle this like a professional, damn it, no matter how much it feels like his heart is shattering in his chest. “You coming back with us?” There. That was nice and professional-sounding, not pathetic at all.

Dick shakes his head, looking regretful. “I’ve got to get back to the ‘Haven. There are a couple of cases I left at critical points I should at least check in on. Give my regrets to the Boss, okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

And just like that, it’s over. The police briefly interview and process each passenger, but it’s quick, obviously intended just to collect basic information they can filter to decide whom to interview more thoroughly at a later date. Tim wonders in passing how many of the other passengers were also victimized by these villains, and he feels no regrets when he sees the Bailey brothers cuffed. Hopefully they’re both going to be put away for a long, long time.

At the Cave, Batman sends each of them to Alfred first for a quick check up. “I swear, nothing happened, B,” Tim tries to protest, only to be betrayed by an apparently bitter Roy.

“Yeah, _nothing,_ just Tim and Jason getting drugged and forced to molest each other.” The redhead folds his arms, glaring protectively, and it’s clear he’d very much like to be locked in a room with the Bailey brothers for an hour.

 _“What.”_ Batman’s voice is pure fury, and Tim’s eyes widen.

_Oh shit. Definitely wasn’t planning to break the news to him quite like that._

“B, I _swear_ it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Of course we didn’t actually drink what they gave us, and as for the blackmail pictures, it was more awkward and weird than traumatizing. Although Jason’s stupidly heavy.” The moment those last words slip out of his mouth, he realizes he’s made a grave mistake. Batman looks ready to pay a visit to the Baileys in prison with his fists, and this whole situation is getting out of hand.

Fortunately, Oracle’s smooth, unfiltered voice cuts in at that moment, her image appearing on the Batcomputer. “He’s actually telling the truth, B. I found the Baileys’ secret server, and those idiots actually kept film of every single one of their encounters. Their staging of blackmail photos is definitely creepy and disturbing, but the setup was more awkward optical illusions than anything actually sexually compromising.”

As Batman’s breathing slowly calms and his fists gradually unclench, Tim frowns. “Wait, seriously? Those guys really saved evidence of _themselves blackmailing everyone?”_

_What idiots. How the heck did they manage to make it this long without getting caught?_

Oracle laughs. “Yep. I suspect they did so in case any of their victims demanded further proof of compromising activities having taken place. They could have gotten more stills from the videos, if needed.”

“Fuckers,” Jason grumbles. “Wish I coulda punched ‘em and still stayed in character. Shoulda puked on one of ‘em.”

Roy pats him comfortingly on the arm. “No worries, Jayjay, maybe we can arrange to pay them a little visit in prison. Not sure how you’ll manage to get puke on them, but we can figure out the details later.”

Batman narrows his eyes at them. “There will be no unsanctioned visits to the criminals. Such activities could compromise the case.”

 _We’ll do it after they’re convicted,_ Roy mouths behind Batman’s back. Jason nods, clearly somewhat mollified by the suggestion.

Tim snorts a laugh, and Oracle smirks. Batman frowns, obviously aware he’s missed something. Oracle hurries to continue her report. “And now that we have their financials and access to their secret books, there’s a clear pattern. The Bailey brothers would always invite their chosen targets on a cruise, and provide a pair of extra tickets.”

Feeling sick, Tim realizes what that means. “They hoped their targets would bring along close friends or family members, someone they could use to stage blackmail photos. They knew the emotional impact would be even worse if people believed they were cheating on their partners with their partner’s best friends, or brothers.”

“Those goddamn bastards,” Jason growls.

“Hn.” Batman slowly nods. “Their methods were deplorable, but effective. Not only was the blackmail more likely to be successful when their victims feared losing friends and family in addition to their romantic partners, it also meant they got two couples in their power for the price of one.”

“Sickos,” Roy shakes his head. “Good thing everything’s going to come out now, right? Any of the victims ready to roll on them yet?”

“Twelve at this point, and the police haven’t even contacted half of the list yet,” Oracle says smugly. “If they try to take this to court, they’ll be buried. More likely they’ll both try for a plea deal, but good luck getting out of life in prison, considering the list of crimes the DA has lined up already. And more keep coming out of the woodwork.”

“Good riddance,” Tim mutters, and isn’t surprised when everyone else nods agreement.

After some more grumbling and ranting, Roy and Jason head upstairs to check on Lian, who is apparently enjoying a visit with Damian and his animals. They’re followed shortly thereafter by Bruce, who clearly doesn’t want to miss a moment of his granddaughter’s visit before her parents spirit her off home again. Oracle signs off, Tim finishes his report, and then he finds himself alone in the Cave, at loose ends.

_I wonder what Dick’s doing tonight? Maybe we can pick up where we left off watching—_

The realization that now that the case is over there’s no reason for Dick to spend extra time with him hits like an emotional sledgehammer. _Oh yeah._

Tim bites his lip, blinks burning eyes, and then mechanically heads over to his car. No use dwelling on it, after all. He’d known this was coming the whole time. If he’s hurt, he has no one to blame but himself.

Too bad none of that helps loosen the vise in his chest, or the aching lump in his throat.

_This sucks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Dick, watching Bailey brothers get arrested:** “Yay!” *Automatically lean in to kiss each other, awkwardly shift away when they remember there’s no reason to fake date anymore* “This sucks”  
>  **Jason and Roy, high fiving:** “No, WE suck! Or we will be, in like five minutes in the back of our car—”  
>  **Tim, ignoring them as he sadly watches Dick walk out of his life:** “Welp, time to break out the comfy PJs, old scifi movies, and giant bag of marshmallows” *Sniffles, stuffs huge marshmallow in his mouth*


	6. Chapter 6

Rolling his shoulders, Dick makes his way out of the fifth aging tenement of the afternoon, and sighs with exhaustion. He wiggles his nose, skin on his upper lip itching beneath the false mustache he’s wearing as part of his door-to-door salesman disguise. It’s hard to pick up the trail on this case now that he’s had to leave it on the back burner for a few days. Momentarily, he wishes he had company.

_This would go so much faster with a partner. And Tim has such a sweet, trustworthy face. I bet people would be more likely to talk to him._

He smiles, enjoying the thought. The idea of having Tim around as a partner in all ways is incredibly appealing. As he stands there, thoughts drifting to memories of breathless kisses, dancing and banter, and moments of quiet intimacy filled with cuddles and happiness, he feels a sharp stab of pain at the thought that he might never have that again. That they might have lost it, along with the cover that gave it to them in the first place.

Eventually, he blinks, realizing he’s just been standing here staring into space for who knows how long. There’s an old woman glaring at him from the steps of the tenement across the way, and he smiles brightly at her. She narrows her eyes, scowl intensifying.

_Okay, then._

Dick makes his way down the street, considering his options. He’s probably not going to get anything done in this state; he’s clearly too distracted to focus on work right now.

Well, today’s a wash at this point. He’ll come back at it fresh tomorrow, and maybe get enough intel to start tracking the drug dealers again. If he manages to find some of their sellers, he should be able to switch to Nightwing and track them back to their suppliers eventually. And that will lead him to the real culprits who think selling adulterated drugs that have put two people in the hospital already is a good idea.

Dick needs to get moving on this case, that’s for sure. He doesn’t regret taking time off to help with the Baileys, though. What they were doing was harming a lot of people, and some of the pies they’d dipped their fingers into would have resulted in a lot of deaths if they’d been left unchecked.

And the thought of Tim being in that position, potentially compromised and hurt, without Dick’s presence as backup makes him shake with suppressed fury. Yeah, he definitely made the right choice there.

Also, without that case, he might never have realized what an incredible, desirable man Tim’s become. Somehow, when he wasn’t looking, Tim Drake grew up into a gorgeous, adorable, overall lovable guy and it physically hurts that he isn’t holding him right now.

_Well, maybe I can do something about that?_

Dick’s face splits into a grin and his lagging steps speed up as he makes his way back across town on foot. Sometimes it’s really inconvenient to go out during the day, but someone would definitely be bound to notice a mustached salesman flying through the sky on a grapnel line. He snorts a laugh at the mental image. Maybe people _wouldn’t_ care. This is Blüdhaven, after all. In some ways, it’s even worse than Gotham.

Arriving at his apartment, Dick quickly peels off his disguise and considers his outfit carefully before dressing. _Tim gave me this shirt,_ he thinks as he pulls on a soft graphic t-shirt. He feels light, excited and a little nervous as he finishes getting ready.

_I have no idea how this is going to go. I just know damn well I’ll always regret it if I don’t give this a shot._

* * *

The case files spread out all over the coffee table stare at him mockingly and Tim wonders morosely why he even tried to work up here. His lab and main computer are downstairs, so that’s really where he should be right now. But he’d gotten in the habit of spending part of every evening upstairs, eating takeout while looking at case files or watching shows… with Dick.

His eyes burn and a feeling of sorrow blooms in his chest, along with anger at himself over the humiliating knowledge that he knew this was coming all along.

_I did this to myself._

Tim knew what he was getting into when he allowed himself to be assigned the undercover role with Dick. It was so obvious he was going to have trouble separating himself from the role, considering the nature of his feelings for the other man. And it was worth it, then. Those three weeks together were incredible, marred only by the knowledge that it was all pretend.

He’d just… hoped, somehow, that it wouldn’t hurt so much once it all went away. Dumb, really.

At least the case is resolved now, so there’s some benefit to everything he went through. Once Oracle had that thread to pull, she unraveled the whole mess. Even more information has come out since he left the Cave earlier, with over thirty victims identified and willing to testify so far. And Batman was able to help the police separate the true criminals from those who’d been blackmailed into abetting crimes, to make sure they went after the real culprits and gave leniency to those who performed questionable actions while under duress.

_I guess I wish Dick and I could have talked about it, a little, instead of jumping straight into another case. But that’s not how this life goes. I should be used to that by now._

Nightwing had been needed right away in Blüdhaven, so of course he’d gone. Tim shouldn’t feel hurt or bereft about that. It’s their job, after all. They do their duty, just as he himself had done, going immediately to the Cave to assist as long as he was needed. Definitely just because there was work to do, and not because he was afraid of coming home and being alone.

Now that it’s all over, he’s back here anyway, ready to catch up on all the other cases that had to wait while he was off on a cruise getting his heart broken. Sighing, he reaches for the first case file, wishing he’d thought to order himself some takeout. As he cracks it open, the doorbell rings.

He answers the door and then promptly wishes he hadn’t. Dick Grayson is standing there, looking gorgeous and perfect, from his wavy black hair to his sparkling grin to the way he fills out the t-shirt and jeans he has on. “Hey there, sweetheart,” Dick says, holding out a bag of something that smells enticingly like green curry. “Mind some company?”

Tim steps back, holding the door open. He’s suddenly horribly conscious of the fact that he’s wearing a pair of loose sweats and a faded band t-shirt that’s probably as old as he is, which he found in the Cave at some point. Whatever, Dick doesn’t care how he looks. He needs to stop thinking about him like that. The case is over now, so there’s no excuse. “Sure, I was just looking at some case files. Come on in.”

It feels so familiar as Dick toes off his shoes and then pads after him. So right, as Tim stacks his case files off to the side so the other man can spread the food out on the table. The routine is so ingrained that Tim’s started a show playing and is beginning to lie down on the couch before he goes still and blushes, remembering they don’t get to do this anymore. How embarrassing. Dick’s obviously not going to spoon him now that the case is—he feels something warm pressing against his back, and twists to look behind him.

Oh. Dick’s… totally spooning him right now. Huh.

“Uh, Dick?” he asks, wanting to relax into the other man’s embrace but afraid to do so when he isn’t sure what’s happening right now. Maybe the guy just likes getting cuddles, and figures this is a thing for them now?

“Yeah, Baby Bird?” His voice is so deep, and the heat of his breath on Tim’s ear sends an illicit thrill of pleasure coursing through him.

“What are we doing?” He closes his eyes and tries again. “What do you want?”

Mercifully, Dick doesn’t tease him by pretending not to know what he means. “I want what we had, but for real this time. The past three weeks with you were amazing, and if there’s any chance it doesn’t have to end… I want that.” He goes still, almost as if he’s holding his breath waiting for Tim’s answer.

_Wow._

“Me too,” Tim whispers, opening his eyes and then wiggling and rotating in Dick’s arms to face him. “I want that, too.”

“Oh thank god.” Dick rubs their noses together, grinning happily. “I’d hoped, but I wasn’t sure.” He squeezes him tight, wrapping his leg around him as well to embrace him fully. It feels incredible, so warm and safe and good. The proximity also sends a little thrill of arousal to his lower belly, and the idea of finally being able to do something about that almost sends him over the edge right then and there. “Missed this. Missed _you.”_

“I missed you, too.” Even though it’s only been most of a day since they separated at the docks. “Stay the night?”

Dick’s eyes are so dark, but his hands are infinitely tender as they run over Tim’s body. “God, yes.”

They definitely have a lot of talking to do, relationship boundaries to figure out, and questions to resolve. But those things can wait, because right now…

They’ve got better things to do. Tim smiles, and leans in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dick, moping through his day:** “I miss Tim” *Brightens* “Wait, I can totes just go ask him out for real!” *Prances off to get the Tim*  
>  **Tim, weeping into his case files and drinking his cold coffee dinner:** “I’m lonely and I want Dick so bad right now” *Hears doorbell, opens it to find all the Dick he could ever ask for* “Yay!”  
>  **Dick, sweeping Tim off his feet and onto the couch:** “Hey, let’s go steady. Kiss me once for yes—” *Shuts up as Tim kisses him senseless* “I forgot what I was saying”  
>  **Tim, kissing him again then smiling:** “It doesn’t matter, we’re dating now. Wanna make out and eat marshmallows?”  
>  **Dick, beaming:** “Heck yeah!” *Kisses Tim some more, feeds him marshmallows to his heart’s content* “Best date”  
>  _Much later: _  
>  **Bruce, examining marriage license with puzzled expression:** “This looks extremely convincing, is there a reason the cover requires it to look so real?”  
>  **Everyone else:** “...”  
>  **Jason:** “Wtf B seriously?! They’re ACTUALLY getting married you moron”  
>  **Bruce, deeply touched:** “Two of my boys are making the ultimate sacrifice and actually getting married to each other just in case it’s ever needed for the mission, I am so proud” *Sheds single man-tear*  
>  **Everyone else, facepalming:** “...”  
> *  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and huge thanks to Salazarastark for running Dicktim Week! Also, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for the betas and support while I was writing this. __
> 
> __I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!  
> _ _


End file.
